Someone approaches me chewing. Manically chewing actually. When they sort of finish chewing they feel a need to tell me about the chewing and that the item they were chewing, “Stuck to the ribs of my mouth.”

How come it happens that, when a group gathers, there’s always one asshole?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure I’ve been the asshole at times (and don’t get so cocky yourself. I know some of you! I’ve been there) but it still amazes me that there always has to be one. They’d be so easy to avoid (“Oh no! It’s Fred! Scatter!”) if they didn’t come in so many varieties.

There’s the loud one; the opinionated one; the creepy one; the overly earnest one; there are so many of them I’m sure I could hit my word count just listing them but I think you get my gist.

As annoying as they all are one of the most annoying seems to encompass so many of the traits: The intellectually superior one. It could be one of the reasons they put the hole in bunghole is they often encase themselves in many other assy traits. Of course they’re opinionated but they’re often loud. They do lean towards an earnestness but only when pointing out your numerous faults. And, let’s be honest, anyone who makes a point to prove their intellectual superiority to you is damned creepy.

But that could just be me.

Some people were talking about nothing too daunting. They’re all bright people (some in their own way, if you get my drift) and, although there’s not much heavy lifting going on, it’s an enjoyable conversation.

Until.

He spoke.

He’d been adding to most conversations but I guess he hadn’t come to his boiling point yet. There’s only so much a man can take. And I guess he took all he could. He begins to hijack any possible conversation with a loud (see!) and opinionated (See!) ramble. When someone would attempt to disagree he’d be very earnest (SEE!) while delighting in, in not proving them wrong, obfuscating the topic so discourse was impossible.

What’s that? I didn’t say he was creepy? Did I have to? Sheesh!

The only good thing about the IS crowd is when they’re talking to you that are TALKING TO YOU. Staring at nothing else is a laughable attempt was not only intimidation but also making sure you pay attention to nothing other than them.

What’s good about that is, when he goes in for his next victim, everyone else is free to look around and roll our eyes, check watches, quickly polish off whatever solid or liquid is in front of us to make this horror end.

The IS noticed that people were preparing to depart (can’t fool an IS for long, bitches!) so he took the opportunity to let us know he was quite dismayed at our lack of fealty.

“I hate when people don’t appreciate my intelligence.”

(I will answer your question now, yes, that is exactly what he said)

Everyone stops for a beat. That’s the sort of sentence that proves the guys inclusion in the asshole hall of fame, but it also tends to freeze people. Good thing I carry a blowtorch with me.

“It’s not that we don’t appreciate you’re intelligence.” I say allowing others to slowly begin their escape. “It’s just that we have little need for a master of doucheology.”

I had the misfortune of being in the direct line of fire of an acquaintances date. She was a wholly unpleasant creature who was more than willing to prove my assessment. At one point she brusquely commented on another member of the party. This gentle woman was visibly shaken by this unprovoked attack.

“Hey!” I called to the acquaintance who was well aware of the proceedings. “Can you fuck off and take your troglodate with you?”

You really do have to hate people. You don’t start out wanting to but they force you into it.

As often happens a kid said to me,

“You don’t have any hair!”

It’s funny how often the parent (there’s always only one) recoils. As if I’m unaware of the situation. I have a standard response which is to feign shock while grabbing my head saying,

“I don’t! I must have left it home. I hate when I do that.” I then ask the unfailingly laughing or smiling kid. “Does that ever happen to you?”

By now the parent is in on the joke. They may or may not join in but they aren’t on alert.

Except for this lady. The kid is starting to laugh while asking if he can touch it when his mother shouts,

“Don’t tell him that!” What? “Now he’s going to spend all day trying to take his hair off.” Are you in the moron farming industry? Because you think you’re raising them. “Hair is not something you put on and take off.” She says to the kid who has not once, in my presence, reached toward his hair.

I begin to recede from the scenario but need to make one last comment.

“Ma’am,” I say instead of bitch. “Must I inform you that you are, at this very moment, wearing hair extensions?”